


Revolutions

by djsoliloquy



Series: Ends and Beginnings [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bittersweet Ending, Forgiveness, Heart-to-Heart, M/M, Not Quite the End of the World but Pretty Close, Screw Destiny, Waxing Poetic About History
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djsoliloquy/pseuds/djsoliloquy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There are these cycles and it’s all happened before. Like everything is more inevitable. If we really were doomed to repeat history it would be better to know, wouldn't it?”</p><p>Malik glanced at him. “You think so?”</p><p> </p><p>The end draws near. Altair and Malik discuss the possibly inescapable nature of history. (Timeswitch AU, with Altair=Desmond's role and Malik=Shaun's, and vice versa. Set during AC3.)</p><p>This is it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revolutions

**Author's Note:**

> For [sannam](http://sannam.tumblr.com/)!

“Five minutes,” Altair said and stumbled out of the Animus. He felt concussed. Waved Maria and Rauf away as he made for the Grand Temple entrance. “Just need to stretch. Five minutes.”

The ghost of Connor’s lightheadedness faded as he climbed the tunnel toward fresh air. He could still feel the shock in his wrist from forcing the blade through Haytham’s neck, the horror beneath Connor’s steeled will to survive. _Shoulds, could haves_. Useless. In every way, useless. All of them had been dead over two hundred years. 

Haytham’s memories had been easy to work through, familiar if somehow _off_ , like slipping on a coat that no longer fit. That wasn’t why his death affected Altair this much. It wasn’t why, more than anything, he found his thoughts turning to Al Mualim.  

On the surface, Altair steadied himself with a hand on the cave wall. His fingers passed over graffiti sprayed across the old painted rock, and he waited for his inner ear to reconcile with the change in century.

The end might be upon them yet Altair still took time to go outside, most often to look at the stars. Maybe the looming deadline made it more pressing to appreciate quiet natural beauty. Altair mostly found comfort in not having a million tons of stone bearing down on him. He never liked being underground. The thought of dying in the earth haunted him. His opinion of it had only deteriorated after Solomon’s Temple.

After he had followed two ancestors into the dark, the three of them together for an instant beneath a memory of Masyaf. After sitting with Desmond to rest, and knowing somehow it should have been Altair to die there instead—that Desmond had been the better man.

After listening to Ezio call out through time for Altair to make sense of their suffering.

After the vault under the Colosseum. Al Mualim's betrayal. 

Five minutes, Altair thought. Five minutes and he would go back.

The air outside the cave was wintry and damp. He leaned against the rockface outside and gazed at the glow of dancing light across the sky. Swelling solar flares made for spectacular if portentous auroras, though knowing their significance took any pleasure out of watching. Altair found himself trying to make out constellations behind them anyway.

He braced at the ear-catching silence behind him—Malik announcing himself in his own way. And Altair was sure it was Malik. Maria or Rauf would have declared themselves as a matter of courtesy.

“You ran out faster than usual.” Malik stepped into the open, hand stuffed in a pocket and shoulders hunched like he regretted not bringing a heavier jacket. He had turned his eyes skyward too, Altair noticed, and had sighed at the curtains of color.

Altair shrugged. “Just stretching my legs.”

Malik rested against the cliff to watch the aurora with Altair. “The consensus downstairs is you could use a human ear for a change, and Maria made sure I pulled the short straw. Apparently _stars_ don’t make for sufficiently kind and understanding listeners,” he added with a trace of irony.

“Any reason for this consensus?”

“Something about you falling out of the Animus after a memory of Connor killing his Templar-aligned father figure. A completely alien experience for you.” Malik shrugged back, matching the airy gesture. He studied Altair out of the corner of his eye. “But that’s not why, is it.”

Altair rubbed his palms on his jeans, warming them and banishing the lingering sensation of blood.

“I don’t like sitting in a chair for hours on end,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

Malik let out a long slow breath. He pushed off the rock and stood in front of Altair. “You know that phrase about history and being doomed to repeat it?”

Flashes of an impromptu lecture made Altair close his eyes in a wince. “Yes?”

“I’ve actually always hated it. It’s a misquote, you know.” Malik shook his head in professional disgust. “The original line starts by specifying those who can’t remember the past, first of all. As appointed makeshift historian I feel I should point that out.” He tilted his head to the side. “And it’s condemned, not doomed.”

“As in condemned, not doomed, to listen to pointless database entries until the actual end of the world?” Altair said and Malik arched an eyebrow at him. “I just don’t see how it matters.”

“I’m not surprised you need it spelled out. Doomed always sounded so inevitable to me,” said Malik. “Condemned is… bad, but at least suggests being a result of our actions. So yes, I would say that matters. What happened with Al Mualim,” he said and paused. “What happened wasn’t fated to happen, Altair. He made a choice.”

It had been Altair’s choice to kill him. Urged to it maybe, compelled and primed and unprepared, but the final choice was his. Just as it had been Connor’s. Just as it had been Desmond's. For some reason the thought wasn’t very comforting.

Malik fell back against the cave. A silence spread open between them.

“I’m starting to see patterns where I hadn’t before,” Altair began. The words came, surprising him and then not surprising him at all. Maybe the night air helped, a sense of sanctuary as they stood apart in the darkness. “I can’t not see them now,” he said. “Like there are these cycles and it’s all happened before. Like everything is more inevitable. If we really were doomed to repeat history it would be better to know, wouldn't it?”

Malik glanced at him. “You think so?”

Altair opened his mouth and said nothing, stopped by a question where he had expected agreement. Why would anyone not want to know for sure? It had been an unsettling revelation just to realize he was in step with a legacy deeper than his own genetics, had been before he even knew about the Animus. Now he possessed almost four lifetimes of it, living that birthright again and again, the family refrain repeating across time.

_I have failed. I have failed. I have failed._

Altair had believed, really believed, that Connor would be the one to avoid it. Until today. He didn’t need another second in the Animus to know Connor had avoided nothing. It was like a thing hunting them.

“I want—” _More than hope that this time will be different._ Altair shut his eyes.“If we knew for certain history had a pattern, we could stop it. That’s all I meant.”

He heard Malik snort. “Or instead of a giant cosmic hamster wheel it could turn out we’re all stuck inside a giant cosmic rat maze. Then what?”

Altair frowned. “We would know we were choosing our own paths, at least. What we did would matter.”

“Or it would only  _seem_ like it mattered,” said Malik, countering him again, and his tone was so unexpectedly severe that Altair shot a glance at him. Malik was focused on the sky. “In the end there would still only be one way out.”

Even so, Altair wanted to say. But he hadn’t thought of it in those terms. He followed Malik’s gaze, knowing for a moment neither of them was looking up and thinking of the stars.

The Grand Temple waited for them. Altair spent more time in the past than he did in the real world anymore, and it was easy sometimes to forget minutes still mattered. Yet for some reason neither of them had made to leave. The black insight from the corner of Altair’s mind was that Malik had the same aversion to being underground as Altair.

The wounds were no longer fresh between them. The days after his rescue from Abstergo— hating every moment of keeping each other alive—felt small and far away.

“Malik,” Altair began.

“Apology not accepted,” Malik said.

“I—” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you want to hear what I’m apologizing for first?”

Malik gave a thin smile. “I can think of a thing or two, Altair. You know, events repeating might not be all terrible. Maybe history is just a learning curve that loops so far around it catches up with itself now and then.” He twirled a finger around, showing a circle. “So. After one full revolution we end up right where we started, but I think we can’t help but be changed for it. If we change for the _better_ ,” he said, “perhaps when facing an old challenge the next time around, we will be equal to it.”

Equal to it. The words rang inside Altair’s head. He thought of Connor. He thought of himself, and couldn’t believe he understood at first.

Almost unthinkable, after everything, that Malik should be the one saying this to him.

Malik walked back toward the vault without him. Altair caught up inside the cave and they stood waiting at the entrance. He saw part of the thoughtful frown on Malik’s face and waited in silence until Malik was ready.

“You are not the man you once were,” Malik said at last.

The full weight of that settled over Altair in pieces. “But you won’t hear my apology,” Altair said.

“No.” Malik rounded on him, scowling. “If you must insist, then it will keep until… after. The last thing I need is you wrapping up unfinished business so you feel free to rush ahead and die alone like an idiot. You didn’t honestly think we would let you go in by yourself, did you? After all this time?”

Malik’s voice broke off. He set his jaw. It was one of the more dangerous expressions. Vulnerable and dangerous. Altair wanted to hold the words safe to his heart for the gift they secretly were.

Malik said, “Everyone here would cut through an army for you.”

Altair looked up into the shadows of the cave’s ceiling, imagining sky beyond stone and threatening green light. The face of the heavens changing as the Earth revolved. Could haves, shoulds. He reached out between them and quietly felt for Malik’s hand.

“You would win, too,” he said.

Malik found something interesting on the ceiling to stare at as well. His fingers gripped back. “I said _everyone_ , didn’t I?”

It had been longer than five minutes. Some minutes mattered more than others. This one felt like it should have been enough to stay the end of the world.

It was not.

“Yes,” Altair said. “I heard what you meant.”

Together they faced forward and headed back into the dark. 


End file.
